


A Single Thread

by Darksidekelz



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-06 00:51:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17335577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksidekelz/pseuds/Darksidekelz
Summary: Swindle's spent his entire life struggling to make something of himself in the bleak despair of Kaon's Underground.  However, getting his big break may turn out to be a curse in the end, as the remnants of his past come back to haunt him.Of course, Vortex is somehow to blame.





	1. Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> I love Combaticons too much...

It had been a long and arduous road, but finally, Swindle’s work was starting to pay off.  He smiled at the message he held in his hands:

_ << Swindle, _

_ I like to keep a sharp optic on the goings on of my domain, and I couldn’t help but notice that your name keeps on popping up wherever I look.  Now, don’t get the wrong idea - it ain’t nothing bad. Frankly, I’m always impressed when a nobody manages to get a little power. And of course, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t think about ways to profit from this myself.  I think a partnership between the two of us could be a very good thing. _

_ Therefore, I am offering you, and only you, the great honor of sitting in my private box at the coliseum - this Septusol, at the 18th solar cycle exactly.  Remember, Swindle, this ain’t an invitation I extend to just anyone. You’ve impressed me, really you have. So be there, and don’t be late. And do make sure to look your best. _

_ \--Blackjack>> _

Blackjack was one third of Lower Kaon’s leading elite - the Trifecta.  He ran the coliseums, and was known for being a shrewd businessman - an excellent ally and a deadly enemy.  To have caught the optic of someone so powerful meant that Swindle was finally on his way to being a somebody.  He’d known it would happen sooner or later, but standing here with the deed to the future in his hands, he couldn’t help but be overcome with emotion.

Swindle had been working tirelessly for the past two and a half vorns to claw his way up from the gutter he’d been dropped into.  It was hard for a small mech like him - a potential victim in the eyes of all passerby, too weak to partake in the pitfights, too weak to defend himself and his property, and too proud to take the easy way out.

But if there was one thing Swindle knew, it was that every mech wanted  _ something _ , and most would be willing to give something in exchange.  So he got to work. Collecting scrap metal in the underground turned to partnering with weapons-makers, turned to weapons dealing, turned to having his hands somewhere in the supply chain of two-thirds of all weapons in lower Kaon.  It wasn’t just weapons either. Drugs, supplements, technology, medicine, land - through sheer determination, Swindle had weedled his way into an essential role in the economy of the Underground. It was only right that he receive recognition for his efforts.

And here it was, all wrapped up with a pretty bow.  This time tomorrow, his place in the Underground would be official.  He couldn’t wait.

~~~

“Hey Swindle, I got a task for you!” Vortex chimed, scurrying into Swindle’s District Twelve shop, his arms overloaded with scrap metal and still-warm body parts.  Vortex had always liked that scrappy little businessmech. He never asked questions, and was always willing to take new parts. True, he didn’t always offer the best deals, but being cheated out of a few shanix here and there was marginally better than being beaten up and having his ill-gotten goods pilfered by some former warframe.  Vortex could at least take comfort in the knowledge that such a tiny mech could never hope to overpower him.

But Swindle wasn’t behind the counter today.  It was strange - he was always behind the counter on Senisol.  “Swindle?” There was no answer, but some bustling about did reach Vortex’s audials.  He was well in the throes of curiosity by now; there was no way he wasn’t going to investigate.

“Swindle,” he said again, drawing out the word as he shimmied over the counter and into the back room.  “You alive back here?”

“Go away, we’re closed,” a muffled voice called from the other room.

“Really?” Vortex chimed back, pushing open the door to the back room.  Swindle appeared to be fawning over some sort of data tablet, which he quickly clutched to his chest, as though protecting it from prying eyes.  Curious. Vortex began sauntering closer. “Because the door’s not locked. Also, its Senisol, so you have to forgive your loyal clientele for expecting some consistency in your operation - that’s a good way to lose customers, that is - not maintaining a regular schedule.  And while we’re at it . . .” Swindle held the tablet close to his chest, but his defenses were no match for Vortex’s deft hands. Within an instant, he’d pried the thing from Swindle’s grasped, and was dancing away, just out of reach. “What could this be, I wonder? A reason to shirk your duty?”

“Give it back!” Swindle snapped, scurrying after Vortex.  He was surprisingly fast for such a little guy. And sturdy.  He bowled poor Vortex right into a wall and did an admirable job of keeping him pinned.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite reach his precious tablet when Vortex was holding it high overhead.  He may have been unable to escape, but he didn’t need to move in order to read.

“Swindle, I like to keep a sharp optic on the goings on of my domain, and . . . wait, Blackjack?”  Ohhhh no. It wasn’t hard to see what was going on here - for him at least. It seemed poor Swindle had just been swindled.  But that was okay. He had a wiser, more world-weary friend like Vortex to watch his back.

“Boy, I’ve got some bad news for you, Swin,” he snickered.

“And I don’t wanna hear it,” Swindle snapped back, swiping the tablet from Vortex’s now lax grip and scurrying away.  “I want you out of here. Permanently. I don’t tolerate theft.”

“I gave it back,” Vortex protested.

“Or disrespect.  Now leave.”

Obediently, Vortex trudged towards the door, but he wasn’t done just yet.  “I am sorry about that - I just don’t want to see my best friend in the whole wide world get hurt.”

“Out!” Swindle repeated, not bothering to fall for the ‘friend’ trick.

“And Blackjack?  Well, he’s really good at hurting people, believe me.  He’s not after what you think he is.”

“OUT!” Swindle yelled again, but this time, Vortex wasn’t going.  He turned, with his back to the door, and planted his feet firmly on the ground.

“I mean it, Swindle.  Blackjack doesn’t do business in his private booth.  The only reason he invites people up there is to fuck ‘em - believe me, I know.”

He was half-expecting Swindle to yell at him again, but this time, it seemed he was willing to engage.  “No Vortex, that’s why he invites  _ you _ there.  That’s why any mech would invite you anywhere.  You’re a pleasurebot - it’s in your damn job description.  But not all of us can sleep their way into the personal chambers of the elite.  Some of us have a little class. Some of us work for what they’ve got. Some of us carefully craft relationships and dedicate every hour of every day to making themselves the sort of mech that is indispensable to those above him.  Not everything is about interface.”

Vortex rolled his eyes behind his visor.  “Why Swindle, it sounds like you don’t respect me.”

Swindle frowned.  A mech so concerned with appearances as he was not keen on making an enemy, least of all one so well-connected as Vortex.  Admittedly, Vortex’s word didn’t mean a whole lot with the bots up top, but it was fun to watch Swindle squirm nonetheless.  “Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Swindle admitted, flashing the fakest smile Vortex had ever laid eyes on. “But the two of us are from different worlds.  It’s nice that you’re thinking of me, but I’d rather you didn’t. Now, why don’t you be a good little bot and keep walking the way you were walking just now - you know, out that door right there behind you.”

Vortex was even less inclined to move now.  “Okay, look, it’s nice that you think that doing things the ‘legit’ way is gonna work out from you, but between the two of us, who’s actually met Blackjack?”  Vortex raised his hand, relishing the disgruntled look on Swindle’s face. As the bot didn’t reply, however, Vortex decided to keep going. “So, then who, between the two of us, would have a better grasp on what our lord of the coliseum is truly like?”  He raised his hand a little higher, before keeping on. “And therefor, whose opinion should we be listening to?”

“OUT!”

This time Vortex obeyed.  Nothing was going to get through that thick-headed Jeep - not when money and connections were on the line.  It wasn’t until Vortex was out of the shop and back in the District Twelve alley that the guilt began to set in.  He didn’t understand where it had come from - seeing the crushed dreams reflected in those adorable purple eyes of his long-time business partner perhaps?  Vortex didn’t like it.

Guilt was something that happened to other people - people who cared about people.  Vortex didn’t care about anyone. Caring, after all, was a recipe for disaster in this place.  It was a weakness, exploitable, and the pain of the inevitable loss wasn’t worth it in the end.  It was easier getting through life using people and then discarding them as needed. Swindle shouldn’t have been any different . . .

On the other hand, the irritating thorn in his side was easily the most reliable merchant the Underground had to offer.  It would be annoying to lose him as a contact, and insulting him was a great way to do just that. That was it then! He needed to care about Swindle’s feelings so that their business arrangements could continue to work out in a favorable way.  No wonder he felt bad! That was his conscience warning him against pragmatically unwise decisions.

If only Swindle’s conscience would do the same.  He hoped, for the little bot’s sake, that his instincts were wrong - that Blackjack really did want to discuss business matters, but deep down, he knew this wouldn’t be the case.  Swindle was going to be in for a whole world of disappointment, and Vortex was going to suffer for it. Maybe it would be a good idea to keep an eye on the situation, just in case.


	2. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting with Blackjack doesn't go as planned.
> 
> Vortex gets picks up the scent of a secret.

Blackjack’s private booth was the best seat in the entire coliseum.  It was close enough to the action for Swindle to see every drop of energon spilled, but just far enough away, and shielded by an energon barrier, that the action didn’t have negative impact on its occupants.  Pit fights had never been Swindle’s thing, but if he was going to watch one, he may as well do it in style.

On his way in, he’d been stopped by three different sets of security guards - at the front gate, to the noble’s seating, and again at Blackjack’s box.  That was a good sign, one that was expected, yes, but that also made Swindle feel warm and fuzzy inside. He wasn’t an important mech. No one protected mechs like him.  But it wouldn’t be like that for long. If this meeting went the way he wanted it to, then soon, Swindle would be the one with three different layers of security standing between him and the masses.

He greeted the final of the guards, and upon presenting his invitation, was allowed into the room.

It was a nice place.  Roomy, and well-decorated.  Trophies, plaques, and replicas of, what Swindle assumed to be Blackjack’s favorite gladiators, adorned all three of the walls.  Despite the abundance of accessories, however, the furniture was limited to a single chair at the center of the box. It was beautiful to behold, undoubtedly comfortable to sit upon, and far too big for the tiny mech that sat at its center, but it was still  _ one _ chair.  He had been expecting, Swindle, hadn’t he?

“Ah, Swindle, it’s good to see you.  Come in, take a seat.” Blackjack patted the chair next to him.  Swindle approached, but he did not sit down. 

“Sir, it is a pleasure to meet you.  You have no idea how long I’ve been looking forward to this moment.”

“Yeah, whatever.  Sit down.”

Again, Swindle didn’t move.  “I don’t mean to be rude, but . . .” he trailed off, trying to come up with a passable spin to put on this without offending his would-be benefactor, “I worry this is a little intimate for our first encounter.”

Blackjack didn’t look upset, at least, but nor did he seem thrilled.  “What, you’re worried about intimacy? That’s cute, but I can promise I don’t bite.  Too hard, anyway,” he laughed. Swindle did not laugh, however. He was beginning to fear that Vortex may have had a point.  Still, power was power, and Swindle wasn’t willing to give up just yet.

Slowly, he made his way to the chair, and took his seat.  With both of their frames being undersized (though Swindle wasn’t quite so small as the Minicon), they were easily able to sit side-by-side on the throne-like chair, albeit, Swindle had to squish as far as he could to the side to avoid accidentally brushing against the other bot.  Unfortunately, Blackjack didn’t seem keen to give him his space.

“I don’t got rust, y’know,” he said, his voice a worrisome mix of offended and amused.

“O-of course not, sir.”

“Then you oughta make yourself more comfortable.”  With that said, he wrapped an arm around Swindle’s waist and pulled him in closer, until their hips were pressed against one another.  “There. That’s better.”

It really wasn’t.  Swindle’s tanks were beginning to churn.  His brain module was filling his HUD with warning signals:  _ Run away!  Danger! _  Even his trademarked smile was beginning to fade, and he prayed that Blackjack hadn’t noticed his small flinch at the contact.

“So Swindle,” said Blackjack, who despite being a Minicon, was beginning to look much bigger, “why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”  And there was a dreaded hand planted on his thigh. There was no hiding his flinch this time.

“Sir, if I might ask?” he said, back on his feet.  How had that happened?

“What?”  Blackjack was not happy about the fact, either.  His adventurous hand was now resting on the arm of the chair, and there was a look of vitriol in his golden eyes.

“What exactly was your intention when inviting me here?”

“What do  _ you _ think?” Blackjack sniped back, dreadfully unforthcoming with the answers.  This was about to get even more unpleasant than it already was.

“Well, coming in, I thought that we would be discussing potential joint business ventures between yourself and I, but I’m beginning to have doubts.”

“Business?” Blackjack snorted.  “Why would I wanna talk business with some nobody over the carnage of the coliseum?  Bah! You ain’t so smart as Dropout said you was.”

Swindle began backing away, thankful that Blackjack wasn’t pursuing him.  It was all he could find to be thankful for in his current circumstances. “My mistake,” he said, forcing a diplomatic smile back to his face, though it took every ounce of energy he had to do so.  “In that case, I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing here.”

Now Blackjack was rising from his seat, marching across the room to tap a blunt finger at the center of Swindle’s chest.  He supposed he could also thank Primus that the mech wasn’t particularly imposing. “You’re here ‘cuz Dropout told me that you had the most adorable damn face of any mech he ever laid optics on, and on an uncommon frame to boot.  Ain’t never fragged a Jeep before. I think it’ll be fun.” His hand slid downward, and around Swindle’s waist to pull him back in, but Swindle wasn’t having it. He easily weaved out of the Minicon’s grasp and backed the rest of the way to the door.

“Well, if that’s the case, then I’m afraid this meeting is over.  I never mix business and pleasure, you see, and the venue is all wrong.”  It was the most diplomatic way he could think to turn down a mech that he truly wanted to be on the good side of.  Truth be told, he had no intention of sleeping with Blackjack no matter the venue, but the truth had never been Swindle’s friend.  “Please get in touch if you want to talk business; you know how to reach me.”

Blackjack didn’t stop him as he slipped through the door, and his guards didn’t stop him as he strode away from the box, forcing his legs to keep a steady gait; it wouldn’t do to rouse suspicion, even if his spark was screaming at him to run as far away as he could.

Primus, Vortex had been right!  Swindle was a fool, too blinded by the possibility of wealth and power to listen to advice when given (even if the advice  _ had _ come from an unreliable source like Vortex).  Still, he’d gone and made a idiot of himself, and in front of a member of the Trifecta, no less.  His reputation would take years to recover from this blunder! 

And yet, he somehow couldn’t bring himself to care as much as he ought to have.  The truth was, he had bigger things on his mind - intrusive thoughts that had barged in unwanted, and were now making a mess of everything.  Thoughts of bots - powerful, like Blackjack, only bigger, and stronger; a black room, illuminated only by the dull purple lights of the bars of his cage; a cold and earthy floor, stained with long-spilled energon; a sense of helplessness, and desperation.

Swindle stumbled through the stands.  He had to get out of here! Had to find somewhere safe to hide away; nobody could see him right now, not like this.  And so, half-blind, he picked up the pace, jogging past the swarms of spectators, and suspicious guards. If any of them paid him any mind, he didn’t notice.  And it didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting home - back to where it was safe, back where no one could see him, back where no one could hurt him.

~~~

Swindle was leaving, and he appeared to be quite distraught.  So it was par for the course then - Blackjack was a simple mech.  He was also a mech perfectly happy where he was; he had no need for forging business partnerships with powerless losers from within his own district.  All he wanted was to cater to his weird kink of fragging some poor sap’s brains out while watching two mechs kill each other in the pits below. 

But Blackjack was irrelevant by this point.  Swindle was the one who mattered. After all, it was for Swindle’s sake that Vortex had come out here - just in case.  Blackjack may not have needed to partner with someone of Swindle’s status, but Vortex very much did. Nobody else carried such a wide variety of dubiously-legal merchandise - at least not at a price Vortex could afford.

Careful not to draw any unnecessary attention, Vortex scurried after his target.

“Swindle!” he greeted, once the crowds had thinned and he was close enough for regular conversation.  As predicted, Swindle tensed and started walking faster. He at least wasn’t so rude as to not return the greeting, however.

“Vortex,” he acknowledged through gritted teeth.  “I’m sorry, but now is really not a good time.”

“Oh?  Why not?” Vortex replied sweetly.  “Was it something Blackjack did?”

To his surprise, Swindle stopped in his tracks, leaving Vortex to stumble into him with a soft ‘oof.’  “Swin?”

“It was - I - he . . .”  Something was very wrong here.  Vortex had known Swindle for the better part of the last vorn and a half, and in all that time, he’d never seen Swindle lose his cool in such a way.  The mech always had some sort of retort on hand. It was part of what made him so fun.

“Hey,” said Vortex, slipping around to Swindle’s front, and waving a hand over his large eyes, somehow even bigger than usual, and fearful.  Primus, this was serious. And a serious situation called for serious Vortex. “You’re not in danger are you? He didn’t threaten you? You don’t got assassins on your tail, do you?  ‘Cuz I don’t think I can help you if Catalyst is hunting you down.”

Serious Vortex always got the job done.  Something about the dire hypothetical situations he posited managed to be just what Swindle needed to pull him back to reality.  He shook his head and shuttered those bright, purple optics, for a moment, as though he wasn’t certain he’d heard that right.

“I’m sorry, what?”  Despite the casual words, his voice was still shaken.

“Blackjack,” Vortex answered, cocking his head.  “What happened up there? You’re upset.”

“I’m fine.”  Primus, he was a surprisingly terrible liar.  Blackjack hadn’t just scared the poor guy. He’d downright broken him!  

“Do I need to go beat him up?  Because I could. I mean, I won’t - I don’t really like you enough to do something so dumb - but I  _ could _ .”

Swindle’s eyes narrowed.  “You’re in luck then.” Ah!  There was that old Swindle charm.  Except with the charm came the attitude.  Sticking his nose in the air, Swindle brushed past Vortex in a huff.  While the actions themselves appeared to be those of a mech offended, Vortex couldn’t help but notice that the change in position also did a great job of keeping Swindle’s face hidden.

“You gonna elaborate on that, or would you rather I imagine what happened, ‘cuz I’m picturing what happened up there, and imaginary you is a total -”

“Please stop imagining me.”

Vortex laughed and scurried after.  “So then tell.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Swindle said.  It seemed that he’d managed enough control by this point that he sounded identical to his usual self.  Even Vortex wouldn’t have thought anything wrong, had he not just been privy to that brief, curiosity-igniting moment of vulnerability.  “It was just as you said. All Blackjack wanted was a quick frag.”

Was that really it?  Something about the situation didn’t quite add up.  Swindle had known about the possibility that Blackjack had an ulterior motive for meeting with him; it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.  Knowing Swindle, he should have reacted with anger, disappointment, irritation even, but he’d seemed downright terrified when he left that booth.  Either he was lying, or there was something else going on.

Vortex always hated other people’s secrets.

“You sure?  You seem pretty flustered.  Was it really so freaky - getting fragged by a Minicon?”

“Like the Pit did I let that fragger touch me!” Swindle hissed, spinning on his heel to glare Vortex straight in the eye.  And wasn’t that interesting?

“Really?  Why not?” He was probably pushing his luck, but Vortex just couldn’t help himself.  He was curious now. “I mean, I know what you said yesterday, but it’s hard to picture  _ you  _ letting yourself get on power’s bad side.”

Swindle realized his mistake, it was clear in his eyes.  For a moment, they darted here and there, as though searching for a way out of this conversation, then, just as quickly as before, Swindle spun away, marching off with a strangled growl.

“Swin?”

“We’re  _ done _ here!” he snapped, without slowing down.  Vortex scurried to catch up.

“Come on, Swin.  You can’t leave a guy like -”

“DONE!” 

Swindle whirled around and gave Vortex a good shove.  Ordinarily, such an assault would be cause for retaliation, but Vortex was too curious to care.  Still, he knew enough to know that pursuing the issue in the same manner would only serve to upset Swindle further, and would likely damage their relationship irreparably, which was no good.  He’d just have to learn all of Swindle’s deepest secrets some other way.

Lucky for him, Vortex was very good at uncovering secrets.  


	3. Intrusive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swindle's recent encounter with Blackjack leaves him more upset than he can cope with.

That horrid encounter in Blackjack’s booth weighed like a boulder on Swindle’s mind for the rest of the week, but he couldn’t afford to let it interfere with his daily work.  There were still bills to pay; there was still money to make; and with the potential partnership with a member of the Trifecta out of the picture, he had to work twice as hard to make up for lost time.  It was better to stay busy anyway. The moment that his processor found itself unoccupied - the moment that his thoughts had permission to wander, was the moment that the memories came in to plague him - that claustrophobic booth, the cramped chair, and worst - those roving hands on his waist, pulling him in close, preventing him from leaving.

Primus, what if Blackjack was angry with him?  He was a powerful mech, and a powerful enemy to make.  It wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine that someone like that would send assassins after the mech who had slighted him so.  

No.  No, that was ridiculous.  Swindle was a nobody; Blackjack probably couldn’t have cared less about what he was getting up to post-botched encounter.  Assassinations were expensive, and he undoubtedly had more important things to worry about than the tryst-that-wasn’t. Still, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to invest in some bodyguards.  They’d be expensive, but likely worth it.

He ran the numbers.  One bodyguard would likely suffice for the time being, with a second one to be added as funds permitted.  In the meantime, said bodyguard would need enough to live a comfortable life - to ensure that all of his needs were met, yes, but also that he had no chance of being bought out by any potential enemies.  Enemies like Blackjack. Enemies that would trap Swindle alone in a tiny room, and try to force themselves on . . .

No.  Blackjack wasn’t the problem here.  Mechs like Riptire and Magna were far more likely threats, as fellow business mechs in Kaon’s Underground.  Neither was quite so successful as Swindle, but that was all the better reason to try and take him out. Or worse, shove him in a cramped cell, alone with a mech who was bigger, stronger, who couldn’t stop clawing at his plating, ripping him apart, no matter how much Swindle pleaded . . .

Primus, what had Blackjack done to him?

“Swindle?  You in here?”

Great.  And now Vortex was here.  Swindle didn’t know why the little pest was in his shop, and he certainly didn’t want to deal with Kaon’s most notorious sociopath right now, but what choice did he have?  Vortex had a nasty habit of getting his way, regardless of how everyone else felt about it.

“No.”

“No?”  Vortex’s footsteps grew louder as they approached the back room Swindle had sequestered himself away in.  As much as he tried to fight it, the growing  _ clang clang _ of metal across the floor threatened to drag Swindle’s mind back into the darkness, as his torturers approached his grimy cell, ready for another agonizing harvest.

“I’m not here,” Swindle croaked weakly.  “Go away.”

“Aww Swin, you don’t have to be like that,” Vortex laughed, popping his head into the room.  As much as Swindle didn’t want to talk to this prick, he was glad to have something else to focus on.  At the very least, Vortex wasn’t the most intimidating bot he’d ever laid eyes on. Certainly not like . . .  _ them. _  “I just have a few questions, that’s all.”

“And I told you to go away,” Swindle snapped, more firmly this time, for all the good it did him.  Vortex took that as his cue to saunter over like he owned the place, though he thankfully stopped shy of actual physical contact.  Thank Primus for small miracles.

“C’mon, Swin.  Just one question?  Then I’m gone. You know it’ll be easier for you to just go along with it.”

He wasn’t wrong about that.  “What kind of question?”

Vortex laughed.  “Primus, are you serious?  What, do you think I’m gonna try and uncover all your most well-guarded secrets?”

Given the circumstances of their last meeting, Swindle wouldn’t have put it past him.  “Information has a price, buddy. You think I’m gonna just give that shit away?” There was no stopping a Vortex that had his sights set on something, but at least he could profit from it.

Vortex’s eyes lit up.  “Ohh, that’s how it’s gonna be.  Alright then. I’m game. How much for your deepest darkest secrets then?”

Swindle rolled his eyes.  “More than you have, I can promise you that.”

“Got an estimate?  I need to know what I can expect to get out of this.”

Swindle was an idiot.  He’d given this nosy asshole an excuse to pry even further into his private business.  He needed to rectify it quickly if he wanted to get out of this with any dignity remaining.  “Three thousand shanix for a question that can be answered in three words or less.”

Vortex whistled, contemplating the offer.  “Wow-ee, those are some pricey secrets.”

“That is the point, yes,” Swindle scoffed, scanning the room for something other than the grinning sociopath to occupy his attention.  The shelves of info cubes spanning the wall seemed good as anything. “I’d prefer to keep a . . . professional relationship with my clients,” he said, moving towards the shelf, keenly aware of Vortex’s eyes on him as he did so.  “You don’t need to know any more about me than what you already know.” He lifted a cube, black as onyx with iridescent streaks lining its surface, and pretended to investigate it for damage.

“So let me clarify,” said Vortex, slowly.  “If I pay you nine thousand shanix, do I get three secrets?”

Swindle froze.  There was no way this idiot had so much money to throw away on something so pointless.  “I . . . suppose,” he said, wincing. On the other hand, it was just like Vortex to blow money he didn’t have on frivolities he didn’t need.

“Alrighty then!  Three secrets. Do we wanna do a standard transfer, or a personal one?”

The cube in Swindle’s hand shattered.

“Ooh, damn.  They don’t make info cubes like they used to.”

“Your commentary is unappreciated,” Swindle snapped, putting the largest fragments of the cube back on the shelf before marching past Vortex and out into the lobby.  Vortex, grinning like the idiot he was, followed suit.

“We’re doing a standard transfer.  There’s no way I’m hooking up with you.”  He fumbled for the till box, pulling a cable from it and thrusting the thing into Vortex’s unprepared hand.

“Yeesh, eager are we?”

“Just shut up and plug in.”

Vortex did as he was told, and a few seconds later, Swindle’s comm pinged with a notification that he’d just received a transfer of nine thousand shanix to his company account.  The crazy fucker had actually done it. “I hope it’s worth it for you,” Swindle sneered bitterly, taking the cable and sliding it back into its home.

“Yeah, same.  That was my rent money.”

Swindle choked on his ventillations.  Was this lunatic serious?!

“Right, so first question.  Forged or Cold Constructed?”

Right to the prying questions then.  Swindle was regretting every decision he’d ever made that had led him to this point.  But Vortex had bought the information fair and square. “Cold Constructed,” he said, slowly.

“Thought so.”

“What do you mean by that?!” Swindle hissed.   _ Afthead. _

Vortex didn’t bother elaborating.  “Second question: where were you constructed?”

The nature of the question gave Swindle a little bit of wiggle room.  He could have responded with the exact name of the facility he’d been granted life in, but that would have been too helpful.  “Helex,” he said.

“Oh, like me then!  That makes sense.” Vortex chirped, apparently unperturbed by the broadness of the answer.  “Then question three: how old are you?”

Swindle didn’t like where this was going.  Vortex was undoubtedly going to use this information as a base for further research down the line, and to what end, Swindle wasn’t sure he wanted to know.  On the other hand, it wasn’t as if he would actually find anything. Swindle was an Untouchable; he didn’t exist. Vortex could do all the research he wanted; all he would get was a dead end.  

“Almost three vorns.”  Of all the answers Swindle had provided, that was the one that gave Vortex pause.  “What?”

“Three vorns,” he repeated, thoughtfully.

“Almost,” Swindle corrected, not sure why he was bothering.  He didn’t like the dark flicker in Vortex’s visor. 

“Wasn’t that about the time Jeeps were discontinued?”

And that was where Swindle drew the line.  He really needed to remember not to underestimate this insufferable madmech.  Crazy he may have been, but dumb he was not.

“Sorry, you’ve had your three questions,” Swindle said, with a haste that regrettably served as an answer itself.  Still, pushed by anger, he found it in himself shove Vortex from his position, leaning against the counter, and towards the front door.  “We’re closed now. Come back later. Or never. I’m fine with never too.”

“Swindle -”

“Nope,” Swindle interrupted, pushing the stubborn Copter along.  “We’re done. Bye bye Vortex. Have fun being someone else’s problem for a change.”  One final shove sent Vortex stumbling through the front door and out onto the street.  It was far too brazen a treatment for a paying customer, but Swindle wasn’t too upset by the loss.  Nine thousand shanix would more than make up for all of the future business lost by one disgruntled helicopter.  Instead, he offered Vortex a smug wave goodbye, and activated the shutters on the door. He was done with treading on painful ground for the day.

Angry as he was, he couldn’t even remember why exactly, he’d had so much trouble focusing earlier.  But it didn’t matter. He had work to do.


End file.
